


Walls

by Fancy Lads Snacks (Filthy_Bunny), Katlen, Morninglight (orphan_account), syrenpan, tess1978



Series: The Sisterhood Writes [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Agoraphobia, Alcohol, Anthology, Child Soldiers, Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence against Children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6435013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Filthy_Bunny/pseuds/Fancy%20Lads%20Snacks, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katlen/pseuds/Katlen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Morninglight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrenpan/pseuds/syrenpan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess1978/pseuds/tess1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow up to our first collaborative fiction, Date Night.</p><p>This time we asked Tumblr for a title, and Tumblr delivered! We recieved many great suggestions, but in the end we chose "Walls"</p><p>Each of us wrote our own short story entitled Walls, with no input from the others. Here they are. Please leave us a comment on individual chapters to let us know what you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Walls by Morninglight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Trigger warning for PTSD, agoraphobia, child soldiers, death (including those of minors), violence, alcoholism, unsympathetic treatment of phobias, suicidal ideation and fantastic racism. This is my answer to the prompt of ‘Walls’ given to the Sisterhood of Smut. Ad Purgamentum, sisters!

 

Arthur Maxson was twelve when they first put him into T-60 power armour. From that day forward, he was surrounded by walls of steel, flesh and belief, forced to take command of his squad when Knight-Sergeant Tamsin was shot in the gut because the other Squires were running around like radroaches with their heads blown off. At thirteen he killed a deathclaw with a ripper as a Knight lifted it off him. By sixteen he was an Elder after negotiating the Outcasts back into the fold. By twenty, he was going to war in an airship with an army and a nice coat.

            Steel became flesh and belief – his vision clear, direction straight and mind dedicated to the goals of the Brotherhood. It became easier to justify his actions for the good of the Capital Wasteland – directly taking control of Megaton and Rivet City, ruling as the king he was named for. The walls surrounded him, an immovable bulwark that anchored him to the Prydwen and the Citadel. His walls were his protection – everything outside of them was chaos and confusion, the Wasteland in need of cleansing. He had to bring everyone under his reign so he could protect them, within his walls so he could control them.

            The Commonwealth was a veritable paradise compared to the Capital Wasteland and Arthur envisaged bringing it under the Brotherhood of Steel’s protection, then bridging the Wasteland between there and the Citadel. He dreamed of cleansing the super mutants and ghouls, synths and scientists who created such monstrosities. He imagined farmers working under the watchful eye of Knights and Paladins. He dared, maybe, to imagine something that might be called peace.

            Arthur grew to fear the open skies – he never left the Prydwen unless he was enclosed by Paladins in steel or the own walls of his power armour. Every time he had to come down to the Airport for something – to deal with a local settlement leader or oversee some project that needed his approval – he hid the shaking and quaking beneath a gruff, steely-eyed demeanour. The man whose soul was forged from Eternal Steel had none he could confide in – even Paladin Danse, his right-hand man, had a childlike confidence in his infallibility. So Arthur endured and wondered if steel screamed silently as it was hammered and quenched.

            The amount of liquor bottles stashed in his quarters, in hidden lockers and under the bed, grew as the war against the Institute went from simmering tension to hot within the span of a week. Synths and soldiers shot at each other in Cambridge as the Railroad, the dark horse in this war, took out both sides with clever guerrilla tactics. Arthur sent out Paladins to scour the C.I.T. ruins with fire and steel, finding only shattered buildings and Gen-1 synths. He took to staying on his command deck until sleep forced him into his quarters, the walls of his belief protecting him, blinding him to other possibilities, to the idea that he might have bitten off more than he could chew.

            Then Danse returned with a Vault Dweller who had critical information on the Institute and wanted a way inside. He had teleporter plans, a Courser chip and a goal: retrieve his son.

            In return for his allegiance, Arthur gave him what he wanted.

            He returned with Madison Li and more information. He promoted him to Knight.

            Weeks passed and they rebuilt Liberty Prime. Then Proctor Quinlan discovered particular information and the first crack in Arthur’s protective walls appeared.

            The machine, at least, had brought a replacement and he sent him to prove himself worthy of Paladin by eliminating it.

            He never came back.

            Arthur couldn’t understand it. He’d given him everything he asked and more. How could he abandon them – him – like this?

            He began to prepare his Brotherhood for an assault on the Institute. Liberty Prime was nearly ready – they just needed a Beryllium agitator.

            Then he discovered what happened to the Sole Survivor of Vault 111. He was there, wearing black leather, coordinating the Coursers who tore his soldiers to shreds. They died screaming his name – he heard them over the radio.

            He tightened the walls around himself and the Brotherhood, recalling everyone to the Airport. His soldiers looked at him pleadingly, that he would save them, while he refused to even look outside the windows at the horizon. He donned his power armour, an extra wall between him and the Wasteland, and prepared to be besieged by the Institute.

            They didn’t bother. A surge of synths overwhelmed the Airport and Liberty Prime was hacked. The Prydwen burned around him as it crashed, only his power armour and those of a few Knights and Paladins who were suited up at the time keeping them alive. He formed them into a wedge and went straight for the traitor, intent on taking him to hell. If the Brotherhood had to die, it would die in blood, fire and molten steel.

            By the time he got to him, the plates of his power armour were compromised, but that didn’t stop him. Final Judgment lived up to its name, burning through that black leather and the pre-War soldier’s body within. If only he’d thought to do that when he first saw him.

            The few, the brave, the best of the Brotherhood fought against the Coursers and one by one, each of them exploded their armour to take the hunter-killer machines with them. Arthur screamed as his walls went down and charged the last of the Coursers, a dark-skinned male who was cradling the body of the traitor like he was precious to it.

            It wasn’t even a battle. The Courser tore off the rest of his armour, leaving Arthur in a power frame, and then pulled a revolver from the traitor’s pocket.

            It aimed and fired. Blackness took Arthur’s world, the open horizons of the world closed in by soft walls, and he fell into them with a smile.

…

He awoke in a rough infirmary, Danse by his side.

            The synth had escaped the traitor somehow and headed northwest, finding a group of trapped settlers in Concord and rescuing them. All the time that the traitor was working for the Institute and Arthur was trying to stay safe within his walls, Danse was reforging the Minutemen into a tough force of soldiers, helping them prepare to take on the Institute. Stunned by the destruction of the Prydwen, he and his men had come to see if there were any survivors, even though it could mean his death.

            When Arthur discovered he was the only survivor aside from Haylen, who’d quietly deserted to join the Minutemen with Danse, he locked himself in a small storage closet and screamed his throat raw. It took Danse and Preston Garvey to kick down the door and drag the shattered Elder out into the courtyard, which was too open and the walls too far away, where a lean, grey-haired woman in military fatigues slapped his face twice and had the men throw him into the Brahmin trough. “We don’t have time for a spoilt child to throw a tantrum because he lost his toys,” she said harshly after he’d surfaced, spluttering and coughing weakly.

            “Ronnie, the Brotherhood lost two thousand soldiers, civilians and even children,” Danse said grimly. “All of them hoping that Arthur could save them. It’s a hell of a thing to know you’ve failed the people relying on you.”

            “I could argue they invaded us,” the Minuteman retorted.

            “Colonel, there were _children_ on board,” Garvey repeated flatly.

            “Well, he put them there,” Ronnie said, glaring at Arthur.

            “That was how he was raised,” Danse explained flatly.

            “They were going to execute you for being a synth!” Ronnie insisted.

            “The Brotherhood wasn’t to know Finlay was a traitor once he returned from the Institute,” the dark-haired man pointed out before turning to Arthur. “I’ll keep the explanation simple: Nate Finlay’s son is the head of the Institute, according to the Railroad, and they fed us false information through him – including the fact that I was a runaway synth. According to Sturges and Haylen, who put together a machine that can scan for plastic and metal parts, I’m not.”

            Arthur whimpered, unable to do anything more. He was trapped under the open sky, the walls of belief, flesh and steel shattered. Why had they woken him up? He should have died with the rest of the Brotherhood.

            “At least you got Finlay yourself,” Garvey added flatly. “Bastard left us to die in Concord.”

            Arthur supposed he should be grateful to get something right.

            Danse looked at Ronnie. “Are we still a go for the attack on the Institute?”

            “We are, General,” she replied, saluting him.

            “Then start getting Minutemen in. We’ve all lost friends and family to the Institute and it’s high time we got rid of the cancer in our midst.”

            “Yes, General.” Garvey saluted as well before turning smartly on his heel and walking away.

            Danse offered his hand to Arthur… who took it and was helped to his feet.

            “I have an X-01 suit for my personal use but there’s a decent T-45 available,” Danse said gruffly. “If you’re up to it, I want you to join the assault on the Institute.”

            Arthur nodded, unable to speak. He could feel the walls about him again. He could feel safe.

            “We’ll avenge our brothers and sisters, I promise,” the General said.

            “Don’t you hate me?” Arthur managed to rasp.

            “I never could,” Danse said tenderly before turning away.

            Arthur found himself weeping brokenly, the tears of the past decade surging forward past the barricade that time and duties had placed upon him. Danse wrapped his arms around him and for a moment, he was safe and surrounded by walls once more, someone else bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders.

            He’d come full circle.

…

Arthur never really got over his agoraphobia and the crippling agony of failing his soldiers, but in time, he learned to cope. When the Capital Wasteland Chapter sent a Recon Squad to find out what happened, Danse told them that he’d gone down with the Prydwen and died taking a traitor with him. They offered to make the big man the new Elder but he refused, citing duties to the Minutemen – who’d succeeded where Maxson had failed. Decimated by the disaster, Star Paladin Cross had no choice but to accept it and declare herself the new Elder.

            Arthur never really got over what happened and neither did Danse. But they learned to live with the scars they’d given each other. They loved each other and Arthur threw himself into the life of an anonymous farmer, taking satisfaction from growing crops behind safe protective walls.

            Walls protect but they also enclose. They blind people to the horizon of possibility but allow them to function in a hostile world. One man’s shelter is another’s prison.

            Sometimes, in the dark of night with Arthur sleeping behind him, Danse wondered what drove Nate Finlay to betray the Brotherhood. It couldn’t have been the love of his son, an old man dying of cancer by the time the Minutemen blew the Institute to hell and back. Or perhaps it was that simple. Creator knew that for Danse, protecting Arthur meant that there was no act too vile to commit.

            People, human, ghoul and synth, built for themselves walls and enclosed themselves in their own worlds. For some, they were prisons. Others, shelters. But everyone had their walls.


	2. Walls by Fancy Lads Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man with no walls meets a girl with too many.
> 
> (M-rated for mentions of violence/trauma.)

“Why does that guy sleep outside?”

Dahl peers out through the narrow mesh window in the shack wall and frowns.

Her room mate, Rhonda, looks over from digging a pair of socks out of the trunk by her bed. “Who, Sturges? Beats me. He has as long as I’ve been here. Just prefers it, I guess. One of those outdoor types.”

She huffs. “Idiot types, more like. Why would anyone prefer being out in the cold where bugs can get to you?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Rhonda replies in the weary tone she usually has around Dahl. “Why don’t you ask him?”

The guy in question lives next door in one of the pre-war houses. Correction: he _works_ inside it, but he lives outside. His bed is a mattress laid out on wooden pallets under the cover of the carport. The door of the house is always wide open, letting dust blow into the big living room he uses as a workshop. The windows remain unshuttered. It drives Dahl crazy every time she walks past. Why would someone so good at fixing things choose to live like that? The General’s house further down the road is a thing of beauty. His could be too. He clearly doesn’t appreciate what he has.

Asshole.

*

She does ask him eventually, making a diversion one morning on her way to get breakfast at the community hall. He’s sitting on his low bed, dressed in greasy overalls. Dahl stands over him with her hands in the pockets of her big hooded coat.

“Why do you sleep out here?”

The handyman puts his book down in his lap and looks up at her with a smile. He always has that easy smile on his face, like nothing in the world ever bothers him. It bothers her. _He_ bothers her.

He shrugs one broad shoulder. “I like the view.”

She scowls at him from under the curtain of her hair. “There is no view when you’re asleep, idiot.”

He just smiles even brighter. “Guess you’re right,” he says, and picks up his book again.

*

“Your name’s Dahlia, right?”

“So?”

He sets down his tray opposite her and takes a seat. “Just want to get it right, that’s all.”

“You getting a fucking tattoo or something?”

He just laughs and shakes his head. Dahl tries to stare at her own plate instead of his hands as he eats. His knuckles are scarred and there’s dirt ground deep into the lines of his skin. All of him is broad and sort of earthy. Solid, like a tree.

She feels more like a dead leaf. Light and brittle, like the slightest breeze could up and dislodge her at any moment.

*

Rhonda kicks her out.

She’s been waiting for it. She knows no one here likes her. They’ve let her stay this long because she works her ass off on the farm, but she’s prickly and defensive. It’s a deliberate choice. She isn’t even sure why any more, but it’s the only thing that makes her feel strong.

She walks across the parched earth from the shack to the house next door.

“If you’re not going to sleep in your house, can I?”

He looks up from his book—it’s a different one today, always a different one—and eyes the blankets in her arms, her bare feet, and then looks back at her face. “If you like.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear and nods.

*

A few days pass and they haven’t really spoken, but he hasn’t asked her to leave yet, either.

She’s woken in the early hours one morning by a snuffling noise nearby. At first she thinks the dog has gotten in, and she sits up in alarm. It’s not a bad dog, but she doesn’t want it near her while she’s sleeping.

The noise is coming from outside, on the other side of the wall from her bedroll. Half the panels are missing or peeling off, so it’s cold as fuck in the room, and she’s had to hang sheets up to make sure no one spies on her.

She wriggles a little closer to the sound. It’s not an animal at all, she realises, but him. The handyman. His breath hitches and a whimper escapes on the exhale. _If that cocksucker is beating his meat, I am gonna rip him—_

The smack of a limb against the wall has her flinching back, and she realises this is a nightmare, not a jerk-off.

“Hey, _hey_ ,” she calls out. “Easy there. Chill the fuck out. Last thing this house needs is any more holes in it.”

He quietens, and she hears the slow creak of his mattress as he turns over. His voice comes through the wall, rough with sleep. “Dahlia?”

“’S’just a dream,” she grumbles, and burrows deeper into her blankets.

*

“How’d you get your hair to look like that?”

She doesn’t look up from the basket at her feet where she’s stripping the husks from ears of corn. She swallows down the barbed reply that’s ready on her tongue.

“The gang I ran with,” she says instead. “We all had the same. Had these chemicals we put on it to make it white. Only mine came out more sorta yellow.”

He bends at the waist to drop a sack of cement off his shoulder onto the ground. “It’s real unusual. I like it.”

She glances at him from under it. The ends are as dry as twigs, and the inch or two of dark root showing underneath just makes her look even more of an oddity. “I hate it.”

“If you hate it, cut it off.”

Her hands stop moving. When she looks up, there’s something in his eyes that tells her he understands exactly why she keeps it. It’s a wall.

“I got scissors inside, can do it for you if you want.” He sees her narrowed eyes and adds, grinning, “Hands strictly above the neck.”

“Whatever, pervert.” She ducks behind her hair again, but this time it’s to hide the beginnings of a smile.

*

She keeps her hood up for the first couple of days. When no one’s around, she runs a hand over the short crop on her scalp. It’s scary and exciting, like stepping out of a cage.

*

One night he’s too deep in his nightmare for her voice to reach him. She’s still awake, reading one of the books he pretends not to notice she’s stolen from his shelf, turning the pages by flickering candlelight. When he doesn’t wake, she reaches a hand under the hanging sheet and through a gap in the wall until her fingers find the edge of his mattress. A few inches further; the sweaty curve of his back. He wakes, turns over, says her name.

The next time it happens he latches onto her hand and doesn’t let go until he’s fallen asleep again. His hand is so much bigger, but he takes strength from hers.

*

“Dahl?”

She’s dozing near dawn one day when his voice rouses her. “Yeah?”

“How’d you get these scars?”

Her arm stiffens and she almost pulls it back through the hole in the wall. Her sleeve is rucked up to the elbow. It’s too late to hide what he’s seen in the dim light. For a moment she’s angry, as though he’s betrayed her.

She doesn’t answer for a long time. She can’t tell if he’s still awake.

“The guy that ran our gang,” she says quietly. “His name was Towers. We were his Hounds, right? But there were these others, the ones he called his Puppies. They wore collars and crawled around on all fours like dogs. Even sharpened their teeth.” It’s probably the most she’s spoken since she came here, but it’s somehow easier to talk through the wall, knowing nobody can see her. “When Towers was pissed with you, he’d give you to the Puppies. Like a chew toy.”

She hears Sturges suck in a breath. He doesn’t reply, but the grip on her hand tightens. She doesn’t want him to feel sorry for her.

“They didn’t... fuck us, or anything. Towers just liked watching us fight, and get bit.”

A finger traces the worst of the scars on her wrist, and Dahlia has to breathe deep against the sudden weight on her chest.

“What happened to him?”

“Not sure. Heard he got killed in a raid on a big settlement. He got greedy.”

“However he died,” Sturges replies, “I hope it fucking hurt.”

It’s the harshest thing she’s ever heard him say, and the only time she’s heard him cuss.

*

People aren’t as tight-lipped around her as they used to be. They smile and say hello when she walks by. One evening in the community hall, the Colonel thanks her for her hard work, and buys her a beer.

She takes it back to the house and perches on the big tool chest under the carport. The handyman is down at the river rinsing off. He doesn’t bathe indoors like everybody else. The water’s so cold Dahl can’t imagine how his balls haven’t dropped off.

“What have you been telling people about me?” she asks when he strolls back up the slope to the house. She averts her eyes from his wet chest.

He rubs his hair with a towel and quirks one eyebrow. “Don’t recall telling folks anything,” he says. “I barely know about you myself.”

“They’re acting different,” she says. “It’s weird.”

“That’s ’cause you’re finally letting them see you.”

She knows it’s a compliment, but it throws her off. “Ain’t nothing about me people wanna see,” she retorts.

“Sure there is.”

She glares at him. She can’t quite tell why she’s mad. “Why’d you let me stay here?”

“Because you asked me.”

“You do everything people ask you?”

There’s a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “Pretty much, yeah.”

She gives him a mean look. “If I asked you to go inside, would you?”

There’s a long pause before he answers. “I don’t know.”

She drains the last of her beer, sets the bottle down, and slides off the tool chest. She turns away from him and goes into the house.

She stands in the dark of the bedroom and puts her hands on her stomach. It’s in knots. She’s not supposed to be here and she knows it. She doesn’t belong. She only ever planned to save up a few caps and keep moving. After a few days, no one here would even remember her. She looks around at her few possessions, barely enough to fill a pack. Her gut twists.

She doesn’t want him to forget her.

“Sturges?” she calls out.

“Yeah?”

“Will you come inside?”

An eternity passes. He doesn’t come. Dahl covers her face, humiliated. Then floorboards creak, and when she moves her hands he’s standing in the doorway.

He looks nervous. His eyes dart around the corners of the room before returning to her. But he came, even though he’s scared. She’s scared too. Not of him, but of her own defences tumbling down. She’s ugly with them up, but what if she’s even worse without them?

Her hands shake as she slides off her oversized coat and lets it drop. His skin is still wet and cold from the river when he reaches her, but he heats up fast.

*

“What do you dream about?”

She looks at their interlocking fingers on the bedroll. His breath is warm on her neck.

“Walls,” he says. “White walls. I’m trapped, and there’s needles. That’s all I can ever remember.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. To come in, I mean.”

“No,” he says. “It’s all right, like this. With you. I feel safe.”

She never would have guessed that freedom would feel like a heavy arm around her. Like a kiss planted on her scars. Like wanting to stay.

“I do too.”


	3. Walls by Syrenpan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Syrenpan writes Walls.
> 
> Crack fic. G-rated. Fluff. 
> 
> Spelling mistakes in Arthur’s speech are intentional on accounts of him being drunk as a skunk. 
> 
> Shameless self-insertion of the SOS. Ad Purgamentum!

“That devil of a vault dweller did one hell of a job,” Elder Maxson said with a hint of pride in his voice as he took another sip from his bottle of bourbon, it was half-empty. “One hell of a job.”

Arthur’s conversation partner stayed silent, so he stared at the bulkhead for a while before he said in a conspiratorial voice, “Can you keep a secret? I wish Danse was here to see it.”

“Human-machine interface engaged: I can predict that the odds are 89.5% in favor of you feeling the unpleasant aftereffects of voluntary intoxication if you proceed to imbibe all of this bottle’s contents, Elder.”

“Shhh. Pam, don’t shpoil...spoil our moment,” Maxson admonished and rapped his knuckles on the robot’s arm with a clank, clank, clank.

“Terminating human-machine interface,” Pam replied, and Maxson could have sworn he heard a note of disdain in its voice. But that was silly! Machines didn’t despise people, or did they? Arthur wasn’t so sure any more. It was a brave new world out there, and in all honesty, it scared the hell out of him.

Maxson staggered out of Quinlan’s office and ambled toward his quarters, leaving the predictive analytic machine to do its calculations in peace and quiet.

Peace and quiet were the motto of the Prydwen tonight or this morning or whatever the hell time it was. Most of the soldiers and scribes were down at the airport celebrating their victory over the Institute and introducing their latest recruits to the fine old tradition of initiation into the Brotherhood of Steel.

And that was just it: their latest recruits were machines they had rescued from the underground facility on the insistence of one Nate Hamilton, Sentinel and man of the hour. The Brotherhood had come around to the Nate way of thinking. He had won them over, one by one, until they had agreed that synths were people and deserved a chance, especially now that there was no evil overlord holding their leash. Arthur had relented, and just like that, the tenets had been rewritten, allowing synths to be an asset to humanity instead of the enemy.

Maxson had joined the initial celebrations, given a grand speech and reminded them all of duty, honor and all that. But as soon as the formal part had been concluded, he had returned to the Prydwen to find solace in the company of Jim Bam bourbon until he had gotten bored and decided to wander about his ship.

Since Pam was not in the mood to talk – _did_ _machines_ _have_ _moods?_ – he decided to go back to his room. The only problem was there was a metal wall where the door to his quarters should be.

 _Hang_ _on!_

The Elder spun around a few times which was a really bad idea because the ship started to spin with him. He tried turning the other way, maybe it would unwind him again. No. Ouch.

When the world had decided to stop moving around him, Maxson finally found a door. He smiled and crawled through it.

**

Arthur awoke in a small puddle of his own drool to the voices of women. He was trapped in a narrow space surrounded by metal in almost complete darkness.

“It’s a damn shame the Elder didn’t come around in time to save Paladin Danse,” one of them said.

 _Danse?_ _They_ _were_ _talking_ _about_ _Danse?_

Arthur managed to push himself up into a sitting position, his head throbbed; it almost touched the low ceiling.

“Oh creator, yes!” another voice agreed. “What a waste that was!”

There was a general murmur of agreement.

_Arthur missed Danse. He really did._

“One time he spoke to me and I swear my clothes fell off all by themselves,” one of them said reverently.

“Fuck yes! Did you ever see him without his Power Armor?”

There was a collective groan. Arthur sighed and rested is forehead against his arm. Well, at least it wasn’t just him.

_Yes, I messed up. I’m sorry, okay?_

He knew his old friend was out there, somewhere, Nate knew where, but even with the recent changes, there was no way he could allow Danse to be reinstated without losing face. He had announced the former Paladin’s execution and promoted Knight Hamilton for it. No, there was no going back.

“Shut. Up. He is gone. You’re only making it more painful.”

Arthur sniffled and agreed.

“But I still want to kick Maxson in the fork for ordering to have his most loyal, most dedicated,”

“Most fuckable,” another voice added to everyone’s amusement before the original speaker finished with, “soldier executed.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Maxson is a damn fine piece of ass himself, but he is also the biggest dick on the East coast.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. The man has a lot on his plate. Cut him some slack.”

Arthur nodded _. Yes, cut me some slack._

“He is rather handsome, though, isn’t he?” One of the voices said slyly.

“Mmmh. Good enough to eat. The young ones all want to kick the doors to hell open for him, I would be content with the door to his quarters.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide as he fumbled for the Jim Bam that he somehow still had in his possession.

The women’s laughter echoed in his metal prison, making his head throb even more until one of them said, ‘Come one, sisters, we have a job to do.”

A collective sigh went through them before another one asked, “To the garbage?”

And her question was answered with a loud chorus of, “Ad purgamentum!” before they moved on.

_They are right. If I had only seen it sooner, Danse would… he would…_

_I am a dick!_

Maxson took a long swig. The bottle was nearly empty now.

_More importantly, though, where the fuck am I?_

**

Arthur managed to crawl along the passage until a round opening appeared. Some thoughtful soul had installed rungs in the shaft, too. He squeezed himself into it and climbed downwards until he stood in a ridiculously narrow corridor, pipes and cables criss-crossed on the walls.

_The Prydwen’s maintenance tunnels!_

Well, that was one mystery solved. Now, how did you get out of here? Just when he had finished the thought he heard voices.

“I love you, Rhys, but I’m tired of this back and forth,” a woman said before her footsteps echoed on the metal floors, getting quieter.

“Haylen...” Rhys called after her but she was gone. Arthur heard someone slump against the wall right in front of him. “Creator, I’m such an idiot!” Rhys’s voice slurred a little. He must have been at the party, too, but then returned to the Prydwen to be alone with the woman, only he had obviously cocked it up.

“Yesh, you are,” Maxson agreed and only when Rhys called, “Who’s there?”, did he realize that he had said it out loud.

_Quick, think of something!_

“I’m here to help you,” Arthur said in a throaty voice that he hoped would mask his identity.

“Very funny, come out, stealth boy. Is that you Vasquez?” Rhys asked looking around for the invisible prankster.

Maxson rolled his eyes. “No, asshole. Shut up and listen!”

“One last time, who is this?”

“I’m not important, she is. That woman is in love with you. She said it to your face which makesh… makes it a fact.”

“I don’t know who you are, but don’t stick your nose into my business unless you want it broken,” Rhys threatened the empty air.

“Knight, don’t make the same mistake I made. It will not end well!” Arthur shook his head in the dark.

“I… uhm… but the Brotherhood,” Rhys began but Maxson cut him off, “Your dedicash… dedication is admirable but you need to listen to your heart or it will break and leave you empty like… like this bottle of Jim Bam. And you’ll be a hushk and no use to us… me… us.”

“But Haylen… Paladin Danse, he is...”

“Oh, not you, too!” Arthur groaned.

“What?”

“Nothing! Go find that woman and shnog her. For the Brotherhood, Knight! Ad purga… no. Ad victoriam!”

There was a prolonged silence during which Arthur just listened to the other man’s heavy breathing through the wall until the Knight seemed to have reached a conclusion.

“Thanks,’ Rhys muttered before he turned and ran after Haylen.

 _Ah_ , _my_ _work_ _here_ _is_ _done!_ Arthur thought happily to himself and attempted to take a celebratory sip of bourbon only to find that it was all gone.

_Damn!_

**

The maintenance tunnel seemed endless to his alcohol soaked brain. Cables and pipes and no door for what appeared to be miles and miles of narrow, metal space. At some point he had to climb up and then crawl along another tunnel.

At first it had seemed fun. He felt like ten-year old Arthur again, exploring the Citadel, going places only he knew about. But the fun had stopped at some point to be replaced by twenty-year old Arthur’s ever increasing annoyance.

 _This_ _is_ _bullshit!_ Maxson cursed as he kept going. His head felt foggy, his knees were getting sore and he really, really had to pee.

Light. Finally, a metal grate in the floor promised a way of escape. Arthur crawled faster until he could look down.

His eyes went wide.

_Danse!_

The former Paladin stood right below him in front of a bed.

 _My bed!_ Arthur noticed. _But how?_

He was about to call out to Danse when he saw the Paladin pick up his pillow and give it a long sniff before he hugged it to his chest.

_Holy shit!_

“Where are you, Arthur?” Maxson heard Danse mutter and watched him toss the pillow back onto the bed.

_How is this possible? Fuck, I don’t care!_

“Danse?”

The former Paladin flinched and spun around, looking for the origin of the voice.

“Up here,” Arthur called.

“What are you doing up _there_?” Danse asked bewildered while he stepped onto the bed to look through the metal grate.

“I got a bit lost,” Arthur admitted sheepishly.

“You…,” Danse sniffed, ”are you drunk? …whatever, let me try to get you out of there,” Danse said before he went to fetch a screwdriver. It took a couple of agonizing minutes until the metal grate came off and Maxson awkwardly squeezed through, tearing a buckle off his coat in the process, before he landed on his bed in a jumbled heap.

When he looked up, the former Paladin stood in front of him, dressed in a white t-shirt and ACU pants. Arthur scooted off the bed and stumbled forward. He wrapped his hands around the older man’s forearms, partially for support but also to make sure this wasn’t some kind of dream.

“How?” he asked.

Danse smiled and shrugged, “Nate.”

Arthur nodded. The Sentinel could probably ask for anything right now and the Brotherhood would happily cheer, “Yes!”

“He reinstated me, allegedly with your blessing, and then Haylen and Rhys gave me a ride back to the Prydwen because I wanted to talk to you.”

“You, I…,” Instead of finishing the sentence, Maxson pulled the other man against him in a tight embrace.

“Does this mean I have your blessing, Arthur?” Danse asked softly.

“Blessing officially given, Paladin Danse. Fuck, it feels good to say that again.”

Both men chuckled, still holding on to each other, until Danse asked, “Arthur?”

“Mh-hm?” Danse was so warm and solid and he never wanted to let him go again.

“You stink!”

“Oh,” Maxson said and pulled back to look down at himself. He was covered in grease and dust and Creator knew what not. “I better go take a shower,” he announced and staggered into the direction of his bathroom.

He dropped his jacket on the floor and then stopped. He looked back at Danse and then slowly reached for the metal chains around his neck, pulling out not one but two sets of holotags.

Danse mouth dropped open as Arthur pulled one chain off and then tossed it to him. “Welcome back, Paladin.”

Danse caught them with one hand. “Did you...”

“I missed you.”

Maxson could see Danse swallow hard as he stared at the gleaming metal. Arthur wanted nothing more than to go over there and kiss him stupid but that had to wait.

“Are you… Danse, you’re still going to be here when I come back?” and added after a brief second, “Please?”

The Paladin sat down on his bed and smiled at him softly. “Affirmative.”

Maybe this brave new world wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The End


	4. Walls  By Katlen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when the walls around your heart fail?

 

 

“They serve me well,” Danse finally answered, staring into the coals of their small fire.

“They do you more harm than good,” Nora replied without hesitating.

She wasn't looking at him, she too was staring into the coals of the dying fire. It was chilly tonight and the warmth of even this small campfire was comforting.

“I've lost too many people and too much of myself each time one of them passed. I have to do something to protect myself. Is that so hard to understand?”

His words came out harsh and bitter, making him regret them instantly. Maybe it was the bourbon, maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was simply that she was right and he knew it.

“But you aren't protecting yourself. You're just isolating yourself. How can you go through life like that?”

His throat suddenly felt too dry and much too tight. His eyes stung and he wanted to get up and leave. Just walk away so he didn't have to answer any more of her questions.

“I don't know any other way!” he hissed angrily. “I am what I am. I am the way that I am, I'm not even sure why we're having this conversation.”

She was on her feet and by his side in a flash. This close now he could smell the soft scent of her body. The unique smell that was just 'Nora'. He breathed it in deeply, letting it fill his nostrils and wash over his senses. He loved the smell of her. He would call it up in his memory later. When the fire was dead white embers and she lay sleeping. He would remember the way she smelled right now, this close, and he would wonder how she would taste.

Her nose brushed against his and he had to suppress a shiver.

“Just admit it,” she whispered softly, “You're afraid of being hurt.”

Danse folded his arms tightly over his chest and refused to answer.

“I've had about enough of this, Knight!” he growled, pulling rank in a desperate attempt to save his dignity.

“I can't believe you're using rank as way to avoid an uncomfortable question.” she laughed.

He felt his ears redden and swallowed hard, looking away from her. Trying to concentrate on anything but how close she was.

She was so close. Too close. He could reach out and pull her into his lap right now, he could cover her mouth with his, end all her questions with a long slow kiss.

 

And that was the heart of the problem.

 

After all the years of keeping everyone out, his walls had failed him. Nora had walked right through them as if they never existed. She had gotten close, too close and even now was under his skin. His palms itched to touch her, he craved a single taste of her lips.

She was sitting on his thighs now, and he had no idea how she had gotten there. He was staring at her lips, as she smirked at him knowingly.

He had taken too long to answer whatever question she had asked, and she saw him for what he really was. A coward. An emotional coward.

“Kni-- Nora, don't. Please...” he could feel his body responding to her. He was, after all, still a man.

“Kiss me,” she said softly.

Danse was stunned and simply blinked at her for a moment.

“You want to. I want you to... So.. kiss--”

His arms closed around her suddenly and his mouth claimed her own. She tasted sweet, and warm. He moaned against her lips and pulled her closer still. His tongue swept her mouth hungrily searching, tasting, and still aching for more.

He broke the kiss with a shuddering gasp and felt her forehead press against his.

“Mmmm... See, that wasn't so bad, was it?” she purred softly against his cheek.

“In..appropriate..” he groaned, even as his hand wound into her hair and pulled her close for another searing kiss.

When he pulled away for air, she shook in his lap as he savaged the tender flesh of her neck and shoulder.

“Danse...” she moaned softly and he burned from the way his name fell from her lips.

“Yess...” he groaned trying to hold his composure.

“I.. need you..” Nora whimpered against him.

The soldier in him tried to regain control of the situation, but lost to the feel of her thighs against his hips, of the heat of her delta rocking softly against his hardness.

She ground against him harder, pulling thick grunts of need from him, until he rolled her onto her back by the fire.

He straightened up and yanked the zipper of his uniform down in one quick motion before reaching for the waistband of her fatigues. She was already lifting her hips and sliding her pants and panties down her thighs in one smooth motion.

He drank in the sight of her, as her knees opened before his gaze. His eyes were riveted by the soft patch of curls between her thighs and how he saw tiny beads of moisture there in the dying light.

She held her arms open to him and he moved over her quickly. He took himself in his hand and ran the head of his cock between her folds as she gasped his name.

He swallowed hard at the sound and nudged himself against her wet center until he began to slip inside her welcoming heat.

Her legs wrapped around his hips and he fought the urge to thrust hard and deep, to bury himself in her at once. He focused instead on letting himself sink into her slowly, biting hard on his lower lip as she enveloped him tightly. He wanted to save this in his mind forever.

“Danse..” her soft keening cry pulled at the last of his restraint and he thrust hard once and buried himself to the hilt.

He withdrew halfway, his hips trembled in anticipation for just a second, before he plunged back into her again.

One hand slid underneath her bottom and clutched her to him even as he pumped faster and faster into her slick heat.

“Danse... please..” she cried under him as he surged harder and faster into her.

A soft moan of raw need built in his chest with each stroke into her, until his voice was a steady cry of pleasure that was too close to pain. His release swept over him in a thunderous wave.

At the very peak of that wave he was aware of her body squeezing him tightly, of his name cried sharply in her sweet voice once more.

He trembled on top of her for a moment, his body too weak to move and felt the bright burning shame of what he had done. He pulled out of her carefully, even as she protested and tucked himself back inside his uniform without looking at her.

He stood, his back to her and the dying fire, and retreated once more behind the familiar walls around his heart.

 

 

 


	5. Walls By tess1978

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knight Rhys has spent his entire life building up walls inside himself. 
> 
> When he meets Haylen and recruits her into the Brotherhood of Steel, she slowly starts tearing them down
> 
> M rated for violence against children. (in the first paragraph only)

1.

The first wall went up when his parents were killed by raiders, as they stole his little sister away. They broke his nose and his arm before he and his older brother managed to run away and hide in a sewage drain. He was near dizzy with pain and they hid in the drain for the rest of the day, the whole night, and half of the following day. Finally his brother dragged him out and pulled him to his feet, and they walked aimlessly, hoping to find Megaton but not remembering where it was. 

By the time they were found by a Brotherhood scouting party he was fevered and barely able to walk. They were brought inside, treated for their wounds, given food, and a place to sleep. Once he and his brother were feeling better, the Brotherhood knight who found them told them they could be squires if they decided to stay with the Brotherhood. He already thought they were his saviors, and now they knew they were his family as well. 

Rhys was eight.

2\. 

The second wall went up when the ball of mud hit him in the back of his head. He was bigger than the other squires, but timid. He was ashamed of his dented in nose and very aware of his and his brother’s status as wastelander orphans. Most of the other squires were sons and daughters of the Knights and Scribes that made up the ranks.

This was the final straw for Rhys, and he turned and used his greater strength and weight to shove the other boy to the ground, and then began pummeling him with his fists. He hoped the kid would get a broken nose like he had, and then Rhys would be the one laughing. 

Knight Danse came across the fight and pulled the two boys apart, shaking them, and shouting at them that they were Brothers, and that they should hold each other up, not knock each other down.

It didn’t make the other boy kinder. It just made him more circumspect.

Rhys was twelve.

3\. 

The third wall went up when his brother went on a patrol and was killed. At that moment, Rhys swore that he wouldn’t allow anyone to get close enough for it to hurt when they died, and he made the Brotherhood his number one priority, his first waking thought and his last, and all the thoughts between. Because thinking about his parents and brother and sister hurt, and he didn’t want to hurt any more. 

The only person he could talk to, the only person who really, truly knew him and cared about him, who remembered his mother and little sister, was gone. 

Rhys was sixteen.

4\. 

The fourth wall went up when he became a knight, and had some measure of power over the lower ranks. He had advanced beyond the boy who’d bullied him years ago, and he itched to send him to do nothing but latrine duty for a year. But his tutelage under and respect for Paladin Danse stayed him. He needed to remain detached from his feelings. Acting on emotions he felt towards other people was a sure way to lose the respect of the people he admired as well as those he had following him. And so he gained a reputation as being tough on his subordinates, and cold, but ultimately extremely fair.

Rhys was twenty. 

***

The other soldiers preferred to go to the Muddy Rudder for their R&R, but Rhys preferred Moriarty’s in Megaton. Most of the other Brotherhood avoided the place because of the ghoul bartender, but since that meant Rhys didn’t have to talk to anyone he knew, he tolerated it. He enjoyed the occasional drink alone, and when he felt like it, he enjoyed the company of Nova.

And so he made his way there late one afternoon to find a new girl working there. She was busy running drinks to and fro, and clearly she was new to this job, dressed in ragged wasteland clothing and unsuccessfully dodging the groping hands of the other patrons. She had bright red hair and a thin face with a narrow, delicate nose. 

“It’s only a matter of time, me darlin’,” Colin Moriarty said to her when she stepped back up to the bar. “The sooner ye do it, lass, the better choices you’ll have.”

“Nova likes the wee Brotherhood laddie there,” he continued. “Doesn’t take too long, mostly keeps his hands to himself. Start with him. You’ll make a lot more caps that way, I promise.”

Clearly this argument had happened several times before, and the girl peeked at Rhys under her lashes, and then hung her shoulders in defeat. Rhys watched as she approached him where he sat in the corner, and when she arrived, he sat silently and waited for her to talk. 

“Do….you...want any… company? Nova has the night off.” Her face turned as red as her hair as she tried to speak, and she couldn’t look him in the eye. Rhys looked at her for a moment. She was exceptionally pretty… spending time with her would be… pleasant. 

He nodded curtly and stood, then took her hand and headed upstairs with her, tossing a handful of caps at Moriarty when he passed. 

When they arrived in the room, Rhys closed the door and looked at her. He frowned when he noticed she was fighting back tears. 

“If you don’t want to do this, why are you doing this?” he asked her.

“Colin took me in out of the wasteland after my parents died, gave me a place to stay. But it costs more than I’m making, so he told me I’m going to have to satisfy the guests some other way if I want to earn my keep.”

Rhys stared at her for a moment, and he felt a kind of dirty rage rising up in his throat. This was no future for a girl. This place would eat her up and spit her out. He knew a better place. 

“You should join the Brotherhood,” he said. “Come with me. I’ll sponsor you. You can learn to fight, defend yourself. You’ll have a home, and Brothers and Sisters to protect you. What’s your name?”

“Haylen.” She swallowed hard. 

“I’m Knight Rhys. All right. Come with me.” He led her back out of the room and to the bar, headed for the door.

“What are you doing? You can’t take my girl!” Moriarty was shouting and running after them.

“Fuck you, you whoring piece of shit,” Rhys replied. Nobody was particularly eager to engage a Brotherhood knight, even out of his armour, and so Moriarty was left to yell uselessly after them as they strolled out the front gates of Megaton.

 

4\. 

It was clear to anyone who looked that Haylen worshipped the ground Rhys walked on. But he had sponsored her, and was determined to be professional. He drilled her and nagged her and kept her up nights. Made her learn hand to hand combat and fought with her for hours until she was able to take him down. He thought he was being fair, and keeping his personal feelings aside but the harder he tried, the closer she got.

She smiled at him, and thanked him, and hugged him before she left for the women’s barracks. And he felt the wall crumbling a little every day. 

About a year after she joined, they were both assigned to Recon Team Gladius, and together with four other knights, they were assigned under the leadership of Paladin Danse to make the long arduous trek to the Commonwealth. 

There was a going away party the night before they left, and Rhys sat sullenly in the corner, nursing a drink, when Haylen came up to where he sat and plopped down beside him, pink and flushed, and smiling. “Everyone’s singing, come sing,” she said. 

“I don’t sing,” he replied. He tried not to look at her rosy face and sparkling eyes, because every time he did, he felt the wall crumbling a little further. 

“I’ll stay with you then,” she said, slipping her hand into his. More bricks and mortar. He tried to patch it. 

“The only thing I care about is the Brotherhood,” he lied, standing to leave. But it was too late. The wall was gone.

3\. 

The trip to the Commonwealth took several weeks, and Rhys avoided talking to anyone he didn’t have to. He had nobody under him to command, so most of his conversations happened with his CO. The other four knights had a brotherly camaraderie but he was not a part of it. Only Haylen talked to him. When he sat by the fire at night, slightly apart from the others, she sat next to him. Sometimes she talked, and sometimes she simply sat. 

After that, he was happy to talk to her a bit more, and he found himself walking with her and talking a little more every day. He found himself telling her about his parents and brother, and she told him about her family. They even found things to joke about here and there.

And without him even noticing, another wall came down.

2.

When she saw him limping one night, she made him sit and take off his boots, and then she applied ointment and a bandage to his blistered foot. She brought him food, and took his plate, and asked how he was feeling. 

Haylen looked after all of the members of the squad, but he felt like she paid him particular attention.

Eventually they reached the Commonwealth and set up at the Cambridge Police Station, where it was a disaster. One by one, the other knights were killed, and it was only the Paladin, Rhys and Haylen left. Rhys was surprised at the remorse he felt. He hadn’t spoken with the other knights much and he was a little ashamed of himself for that.

He went to find Haylen the evening after the last knight died. He had been hanging on for days and had just passed this morning. He came into the room to find her crying against the Paladin’s chest. Danse had his arm around her and was patting her back awkwardly. Rhys backed out of the room unseen and went to lie on his sleeping bag. 

He was burning with an emotion he’d never felt before…. Jealousy. Why was she going to Danse for comfort instead of him? He scowled. She kept making him feel all these… emotions. He was confused. Angry. And lonely. 

He heard her come into the room so he rolled onto his side to face the wall. He listened as she unrolled her bedroll next to his and sat down to take off her boots, and her hood, and her vest. 

“Rhys?” she asked.

He grunted.

“Can I lay with you?” His eyes shot open in surprise, and he found himself rolling over and opening up his arms so she could lay with him. She curled up into him, and he felt her crying into his chest. He didn’t know what to say, so he just ran his fingers through her soft red hair and held on. After a while, she quieted, and he realized she was asleep. 

He laid awake with her in his arms for a long time, while another wall came down inside him.

1.

The ghouls were everywhere, and Rhys took a bite to the thigh and another to his leg, bringing him down. A third got his arm, and Danse was firing wildly trying to stave them off, when some kind of shape in blue came in, out of nowhere. 

Rhys was dizzy from the pain and the laser blasts and bullets were everywhere, but soon there was quiet. He heard the Paladin talking to the newcomer, as he leaned on the side of the building. He passed out for a moment.

When he came to, Haylen was patching him up, and the Paladin announced he was going with this newcomer to go retrieve the necessary transmitter from a nearby building. They were expected to be gone at least two days. Rhys protested but Haylen hushed him as she applied a stimpack and wrapped his wounds. 

He fell asleep once more, and when he woke up, Danse and the vault dweller were gone.

It was getting dark, and he stood, cautiously, testing his injuries. He seemed to have healed well. Haylen leaned on the wall next to him. He didn’t remember coming inside, but they were there. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder and she shot awake. 

“Sit back down,” she said, when she saw him standing. “Let me fix you something to eat.” 

Rhys smiled. “Yes, Doc.” he said, and she rolled her eyes at him, but smiled. He didn’t take his eyes off her as she bustled about preparing him food. She handed it to him, and then pulled his bandages off to check his wounds. The stimpacks had done their job and they were healed, although faint scars remained. Finally she was satisfied, so she sat down and ate her own meal. 

She set her plate down, and then leaned on him. Surprised, he wrapped his arm around her and let her warm heat flow into him. He felt himself relaxing incrementally. 

Suddenly she shifted, and he looked down at her face, her eyes, her nose. Her mouth.

He didn’t know how it happened but he was kissing her, and holding her, and she sighed against him. After a moment, she pulled back and looked at him. 

“Please don’t ever leave me," she whispered

“I won’t,” he replied, as the last wall came down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haylen and Rhys's story continues in [Chapter 12 of Bits and Pieces](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7398634/chapters/16814983)


End file.
